Getting Wet – It’s Raining Men Read Online Aria Cole, Mila Crawford

Categories Genre: Romance, Virgin Tags Authors: ,

Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 93(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Getting Wet - It's Raining Men

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Aria Cole, Mila Crawford

Book Information:

It was supposed to be a business trip with a splash of fun in the sun. I wasn’t expecting to walk into a local bar and get tangled up with a man I barely knew. But one night with Hawkley and I knew there was no going back. Until I realized that Hawkley was more than I could have bargained for.

Living in the small town of Spring didn’t leave a lot of opportunity for romance or pursuing my dreams. I was okay with that. I’d dedicated my life to taking care of my dad and managing my bar until the day Ally walked in. Then I found out the girl of my dreams had also been sent to reboot my career.

The music we made between the sheets wasn’t our only smash hit. Our most epic song was the one our hearts sang to one another.
Books by Author:

Aria Cole, Mila Crawford



I hated flying into JFK. It was always busy and crowded and dirty. It took forever to collect my bags and finally leave. I usually tried to pack light with just a carry-on, but this last trip had been two weeks, and bringing only a few sets of clothing weren't going to cut it. I moved past an elderly couple snuggling like two teenagers and smiled—a picture of true love. I hoped Royce and I would still be like that when we were old and grey. I couldn't wait to get home and surprise him two days early. I'd managed to wrap up everything sooner than expected, and I knew he'd be thrilled. Royce liked to complain about my work trips and how much he hated being left alone.

Once I had my bags, I hailed a cab. In the car, I started freshening up as much as possible before we got to my place. I didn't want to look less than presentable. After all, my fiancé was Royce Billings—one of the hottest stars in country-rock to come out of the last decade.

Some days I couldn't believe that such a successful man had actually chosen me. We'd met at a concert two years ago. I was there with Columbia trying to sign the opening act; I didn't even think I'd get to see Royce perform, let alone take him home with me. Maybe it was me asking about the other band that made him take notice. I had a backstage pass and had dressed the part as a serious rock journalist and new agent at the label, wearing my dark-rimmed glasses and long black hair in a ponytail. Royce was magnetic and could charm the pants off a mannequin. I watched him from afar and snacked on some pretzels off the Kraft table. At some point during the other band's first set, I saw him approach the table smiling. I literally turned and looked around to see who he was giving the eyes to. I nearly choked when I realized it was me. I scored double that night, a contract with an up-and-coming alternative ensemble and a whirlwind romance with a star. His attention made me feel like I could fly. It's true what they say the higher the high, the harder they fall. But back then, I was as easy a target as they come.

But that day, coming home from the airport, I was as clueless as they come—a small-town girl who couldn’t believe her own luck. Nebraska, corn-fed bumpkin now hobnobbing in New York, working for one of the biggest record companies in the world, and engaged to one of the most sought after men in the business—what could go wrong?

"We're here, doll," the taxi driver said, stopping right in front of our brownstone. He was old school, maybe an Italian Brooklynite who looked at me in the rearview after he checkout out our brownstone. His head whipped back and forth a few times as he tried to place me. New York was a big city, but its cab drivers still thought they had the market cornered on the who's who of celebrity.

"Nice place. You must make a lot of coin," he said, rubbing his fingers together.

For fucks sake, I thought. Nobody has any manners anymore.

"Thank you," I said, "It's my boyfriend's place, really." I don't know why I felt like I had to qualify it like I didn't deserve to live in a palace or have the affection of an amazing man. I handed the driver four twenties and told him to keep the change. New York traffic was a nightmare, and I was sure people didn't tip the cab drivers like they should have, plus these OG's were a dying breed in a city full of Ubers and Lyfts and whatever app du jour that was gaining traction. I loved a good old-fashioned yellow cab, complete with uncouth drivers who swore or gabbed endlessly into their Bluetooth in a language you couldn't even pinpoint.

This guy got out of the cab and removed my bags for me. He walked them to the base of the stairs even. He was either quite the gentleman, or he didn't believe it was really my place like I might jog three plots down to the empty lot and pitch a tent as soon as he drove off the block.

I sure as hell didn't know it, but maybe my cabby was presentient.

"Have a wonderful night," I told him, thinking I was about to have one myself.

"You too, doll."

As the cab drove away, I smiled, looking at my beautiful house, with my handsome man waiting unsuspectingly inside. My life was a charmed one, and I felt lucky and grateful.

I hauled my bag up the stairs and opened the door to soft music and dimmed lights. Someone must have told Royce I was coming home, either that or he was tracking my phone. He was so very good at spontaneous moments of romance. It was part of what made him so special. I left my bag in the hallway and decided to surprise him in my own way since he already knew I was coming. I started taking off articles of clothing as I walked through the house and discarding them in my wake. I stepped carefully as only candles, and rose petals guided my way. The sexy trail finally ended at our bedroom door, in front of which I stood debating walking in wearing just my bra and panties.